


Friday

by extrasystem



Series: Days of the Week [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Breeding Kink, Christmas, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, but theyre over 18, god idk where to begin for warnings, peter and reader are like 22 idk, switch peter ??, switch reader ??, tbh theres no plot, thats the gist of it i think, time is not real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrasystem/pseuds/extrasystem
Summary: He’s too pretty to be looking at you like this, like he’d give you the stars if you asked.It’s simple, really."I just want you."[Or, Peter and you celebrate Halloween and the holidays.]
Relationships: Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker/Reader
Series: Days of the Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779277
Comments: 3
Kudos: 98





	Friday

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know. i dont know but this was supposed to be for Halloween and then December happened and then it was a week until Christmas.

"—Happy Halloween!"

A jumpy group of 8-year-olds huddle together to squeeze into the view of the doorway, gloved hands and layered shirts underneath their costumes. There’s about four of them who widen their pillowcases and plastic bags to welcome the handful of sweets you’re carrying.

"Wow!" Peter gasps, snaking behind to grin at the vampires in front of you. "You guys look awesome!"

You nod enthusiastically, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you lean in to whisper, "I think you guys are the best vampires I have _ever_ seen."

A rumble of giggles erupts when Peter pouts and shouts, " _Hey!"_

Several more chocolates are dropped into bags before a chorus of goodbyes flood the hallway. Peter’s apartment door shuts with a click and you’re pushed against it, caged by a black cape and muscled arms. Your head tilts back to smirk at his powdered face.

"I thought _I_ was your favourite vampire."

"Nope. Not at all. Not even close."

He snorts, nudges his nose with yours and trails his lips along your mouth.

"You’re gonna get lipstick all over your face," you warn, raising a brow. Peter hesitates and you take the opportunity to slip away, your cheeks aching from the smile on your lips. You tear open a Kit-Kat and slump onto the couch to resume your movie. He tails you closely, moaning in annoyance and tugging at his frayed collar.

"S’not fair," Peter huffs, thumbing at the red bow on your head. You bat his hand away, eyes unmoving. "I think you purposely wore the one that doesn’t dry."

"Huh?"

"Your lipstick. Why didn’t you wear one of your other ones?"

Your eyes roll mockingly. "Because I wanted to, Peter."

The doorbell rings again, interrupting his rebuttal. The familiar chant echoes around the living room and you lean over the backrest to get a peek of red and blue. He kneels to the ground to get to the same height as the rosy-faced toddler, carefully pacing a goodie bag in their cupped hands.

Your chest flutters at the sight, a silent laugh pulling from your throat.

He turns around, stars littering his cheeks. "Hey, come look at this."

At the door is a tiny version of Peter — _Spiderman_ — with his mask scrunched over his nose, hiding behind their mother’s legs. A heavy coat sits on his shoulders and, _god_ , you probably would have melted if it wasn’t the middle of autumn.

"Oh my god."

Peter chuckles, shaking his head and making light conversation with Spiderman while you greet his mother. He’s a mirror image, a smaller version of her with puffy cheeks and round eyes. And then, the sudden thought can’t stop protruding your brain: _babies_. Compressed little humans that babble with gummy smiles and chubby hands.

It’s not like you and Peter _haven’t_ talked about your futures before, just in light promises and ostentatious daydreams when you’re both half-lidded. It’s more that the topic of children has never been focused on, rather implied. But when you see mini Peter fidget with his coat and offer a shy smile, is there even a doubt that there won’t be one between you two someday?

A light pinch to your waist. "Baby, say goodbye."

You shake from your reverie and wave the boy and his mother away, turning to the vampire on your left as he shuts the door. As opposed to the routine you’ve set earlier in the night, you stand planted in the ground and stare. Your eyes seer into Peter’s flushed skin and the confused tilt in his lips.

"What," he deadpans, slinking closer to wrap an arm around your waist as your vision drops to the faded bruises hiding behind his collar.

"I changed my mind. You _are_ my favourite vampire; the prettiest one I’ve seen, in fact."

He raises an amused brow, shrugging off the red flush on his cheeks. "What’s with the change in attitude?"

A shrug. You tug his wrist and lead him onto the couch, Kiki’s Delivery Service be damned. Peter, so sweet and willing, complies with your silent request with his bottom lip between his teeth. You straddle his lap a quick second after he falls onto the backrest and needy fingers crawl under his crumpled blouse. His clammy hands palm your black dress, over the dip in your thighs and curve of your hips.

You lean forward and press your mouth to his, brushing a thumb over his nipple to swallow Peter’s gasp and sneak your tongue in. Pitchy moans escape your throat as you lead your movements into a rushed frenzy, removing your fingers from his bare chest to unclasp the dollar-store cape. Your dress is scrunched at your waist, underwear on display for Peter’s wandering gaze.

"'M not complaining but," he whispers hotly on your face, eyes dark and lips bitten, "where did this come from all of a sudden?"

The dark, cheap fabric pools behind him, highlighting his blushed skin and lipstick-ridden chin. Peter’s heady glare prompts a thump in your chest, all the way down to the area that’s pressed to his hardened cock. He’s too pretty to be looking at you like this, like he’d give you the stars if you asked.

It’s simple, really.

"I just want you."

He groans quietly, grasping your hipbones to start an indigent grind and rubs his nose to your throat. You peer up at the ceiling before shutting your eyes to focus on the feeling of Peter. He’s so good; he’s attentive to how you react when he cups your breasts over your bra and the pool of wetness that grows the more he pants your name.

Your hands remove themselves from his tangled hair to the buttons on his shirt to desperately remove these barriers between you two. Your motions are paused to slip the dress off of you, red bow caught in the act.

"Ah fuck, Peter." The accessory is ripped from your hair, snorting at the awkward position you’re in while he attempts to safely remove the clip. "Pull it, who cares."

"Don’t wanna hurt you," he mumbles, kissing your jawline after you’re half-naked. He gently pushes your hands away to take his shirt off, forcefully popping the last of the buttons.

Your mouths find each other again, unwilling to part even in the removal of your underwear and Peter’s slacks. It’s hot and a mess — lipstick and powder imprinted over your skin like a child’s artwork. Wet pants and damp skin clash in a flurry of heat and want.

"Let me suck you off, honey."

You’re on the floor quicker than he can react, resting your chin on his knee for his response. Peter gnaws at his lip with you below him, needy for him to sit heavy in your mouth. He nods and you’re eager to react; pushing his legs further apart, you fit in and spit on your palms before grabbing the base of his cock.

He moans and involuntarily bucks up, your hands sliding up and down, thumb over the tip. A rough hand brushes a stray hair back and Peter whines, "So pretty, baby. Look so good on your knees fo’ me."

You coo at the reassurance and take him between your lips, licking his pre-cum and swallowing it greedily. Slowly, you take the rest of his length, thick and weighted. Peter fucks up into your mouth accidentally and murmurs a hasty apology. You shake your head, blinking up at him and squeeze his thigh to tell him otherwise.

"Fuck. Fuck, are you sure?" his voice is strained and stuck between wanting to follow your word and not hurting you. A string of spit and cum extends as you sit back on your knees, leaning into his palm as you nod. "Shit, okay."

You fall back into place, sucking at him and noting the bob of his Adam’s apple. Peter grasps your hair, beginning slow and gentle. A series of groans later and with a hum from you, he lifts his hips at a more rapid pace. Peter watches in silent awe as tears meet the edge of your waterline and you gag around his cock, but never pulling away.

"Wait — hold on."

He drags you off him, panting and sucking your lipstick off his mouth. Your throat is raw and aching but it’s a pleasure you’re beginning to like, especially if it leaves Peter like shattered glass; something so easy to see through and read. He motions for you to return to his lap and says your name, "—bend your knees, either side, baby."

Weak for his voice, you comply and the puddle between your thighs grows. A finger slips into your heat, pumping slowly until a second joins to stretch you out.

"Peter," you cry, clenching around him and holding onto his biceps. "Please, just want you now."

"You have me."

There’s this side of Peter that blindsides you most times. Flashes of hunger and unbridled aggression that translates into hard grips on your thighs and teeth marks on your shoulder. It’s different — jarring maybe, if your stomach didn’t flip with each bite indenting your skin.

He stuffs you with his fingers, curling them until you release a whimper. You grind into his palm and, "P-Peter, more. I—"

You lean your head into the crook of his neck, groaning at the thrust of his hand in and out of your wet cunt to comply with your demands. The languid pace has your hips meeting Peter’s every move in a desperate attempt to reach your high. He nuzzles into your hair, biting his lip at the sloppy sounds.

"Messy girl," Peter mumbles. "What got you like this so fast?"

A third digit stretches your pulsing walls, a thumb pressed onto your clit. The added stimulation has you bucking quicker and harder to rush closer to your climax. Peter’s soft praise and awed grunts edge you further, grazing your ear with his teeth.

"Fuck. 'M close."

You’re _there_. The fireworks and lightning and rainbows threading your veins between your fingertips, threatening to throttle your body into a series of shivers. Peter’s warm body flush against yours muffles your breathy groans, unyielding in his lazy motions.

You’re _there_. Until you’re not.

His fingers slip out and he ignores the gasp from your throat at the loss. Peter’s other hand grasps at your jaw to lift you away from his neck.

"Hmm?"

There’s cotton in your mouth. "Wha—?"

Peter slides the same fingers wet with your slick past your lips and presses your tongue down. "You never answered me."

The taste of your arousal has you aching, frustrated and hot at the loss of release. You huff but hesitate at the dark eyes searing into you. You clean the mess in your mouth.

"Jesus."

You let his hand fall, drool trailing your chin and Peter’s wrist.

"You never answered me," he parrots, patting your bum so that you lift onto your knees. He fists his cock as his eyes create a blaze that begins at your breasts to between your thighs. There’s a pause at your lower stomach. "You liked that baby, huh? Liked my mini-me?"

A scarlet tint washes over you, though your body reacts differently.

Peter keeps going and brings his knuckles over your womb. "Want me to give you one? Fill you with my cum until you’re all swollen and round?"

Christ.

You whine, pushing his hand aside and grabbing the base of his length to guide him past your throbbing hole. He lets you lead, sharing a wanton moan with you once he’s pushed to the hilt. He’s so thick it takes a moment for you to adjust.

Peter holds your hips to guide you up and down, the glide embarrassingly smooth from your arousal. You didn’t even know this was your… _thing_. But the thought of your boyfriend fucking you until you’re pregnant with his child turns you into a heap of aching bones.

"So," a gasp, "tight. Shit."

Your hands cradle the sides of his face to bring him into a half-assed kiss. "Peter, you feel so good. I want you to come inside of me so bad."

He bites your lip and cries out when you clench around him. Peter chases your lips as you bounce faster to compensate for his lack of movement. Your thighs burn but the chase for your high is too tempting to stop, clawing at Peter’s hair. The sight below you is filthy and damp withslick over your thighs.

You slump against his chest to catch your breath. And, because it’s Peter, he brushes the hair off your forehead, asking, "You okay?"

He offers you a second to nod before thrusting upwards and stealing what left in your lungs for himself. It’s faster and harder than what you’ve been doing; shoving against you roughly as you mewl at how far Peter’s hitting. Your knees squeeze his hips when his cock twitches inside you.

"Peter," his name tumbles from your mouth, jaw slacked, "don’t stop."

He grunts, eyeing the place where you’re connected. His brows are furrowed in concentration and face flushed from ecstasy. Your boyfriend is so pretty. Heart-wrenchingly, overwhelmingly beautiful. But the babies — his, yours, both — so incredibly charming the imagery brings a tear to your eye.

"Get on your stomach."

Peter fucks you into the sofa like it’s the last time he might. There’s spit pooling next to your open mouth, a throw pillow under your hips that needs to be readjusted from the way he hovers over you, forcing you closer to the armrest and your climax.

"Gonna—" You can tell he’s a breath away from his release, gasps shallow and fingers toying with your clit. "—Gonna give you my baby. Make you pretty and round so that everyone can see you’re mine."

You come with a mix of a heave and a sob. Your eyelids clench together tightly, face smothered into the couch as you take whatever Peter has left to give. He pumps inside you a few more times before he traps you with his arms, filling you like he promised.

His nose nuzzles the place behind your ear after he pulls out, slowly leaning his weight onto you. You moan, "You’re too heavy; you’ll crush me."

Your Peter, the one with dimples and galaxies in his smiles, giggles. Lifts off and wobbles his way to the bathroom and back with a warm cloth to clean the mess between your legs.

"So…" he starts, and you’re shoving your face further into the cushions, snaking away from his touch, "You’ve thought about kids?"

* * *

October ends and autumn follows soon after.

The conversation between you two changes in a good way. Great, even. There’s more honesty and a lack of embarrassment when it comes to the topic of your sex life. What you like, what you don’t. What you want to try, how you want to do it.

You’ve never had… _this_ before. Complete transparency in all aspects of your relationship and Peter hasn’t either. It’s new and different and good. Similar to your first exhale in winter, watching the air thicken around you and disappear.

"What are you thinkin’ about?"

Your thought materializes in front of you, leaning on the doorway of the auditorium. The itchy, evergreen cloth sits on his wide shoulders as a background to the reindeer stretched over his chest. Peter grins as if he’s the one receiving presents tomorrow and not the kids sleeping in their hospital rooms. 

You finish your last bow, skipping over to him to slide your hands under his sweater and around his slim waist. "You."

"Me?"

"Mmhm."

He tugs at the end of your hair, fondly grazing your lips with his. "It’s cause of the kids, isn’t it?"

"Shut up," you snap, glaring at him playfully. "Maybe in, like, a decade."

Peter laughs, all teeth and holiday spirit. "Sounds good to me."

You glance at the clock behind him. The hand strikes twelve and you squeeze onto him a little tighter. Just to make sure he doesn’t disappear on you.

"Merry Christmas, love." 

He cranes his neck to give you a proper kiss, cradling your cheeks. Peter tastes like candy canes and hot chocolate from a paper cup. It might be your best memory of him yet.

"Happy Holidays, Peter."

**Author's Note:**

> its been far too long and i have no idea what I've written but i hope you enjoyed!


End file.
